Blocking out the Sun
by Shippy1
Summary: Post Chosen Spuffy Series -- She doesn’t think she’ll ever feel again. Happy, weightless chatter surrounds her, the sun gently caresses her cheek, the universe moves in its regular course, as if everything was okay. But it’s not.
1. Default Chapter

She doesn't think she'll ever feel again.  Happy, weightless chatter surrounds her, the sun gently caresses her cheek, the universe moves in its regular course, as if everything was okay.  But it's not. 

The potentials – no, the slayers – are doing their version of a Scooby dance in the middle of the road, not a mile away from where the hellmouth used to be.  For a minute she wonders why they're so happy.  If they even have the right to be so happy.  How can they be so happy when everything around them is in shambles?

Willow and Kennedy sit arm in arm, staring into the sun.  They're talking quietly together, exchanging smiles.  And right then, she knows.  Willow is done.  Her first two loves were snatched away because of who she was, and in the firm set of her friends jaw, Buffy can see that this one won't be.  She'll leave, taking willing Kennedy with her, live quietly together somewhere where they won't get torn apart.

Giles is leaning on Dawn – for the first time she notices how old he really is.  Always looked at him as a tower of strength for anyone to borrow, and it's finally taken it's toll.  He looks frail, and his fingers poke restlessly at a crack in his glasses.  Dawn – her little sister who knows too much for her age in human years, is cuddled into his coat.  Everyone needs a daddy figure to turn to, she's done it for all her life.  Now it's Dawn's turn.

Buffy feels a light touch on her arm, and Xander is settling down on the rock beside her.  

            "I'm coming with you."

She shakes her head.  No one is coming with her.  Whatever harm she does from now on, she'll do only to herself.  Buffy wont be responsible for ruining any more lives.  

            "I'm coming with you, Buffy."

Firmer now, and she looks at him for the first time.  

This was Xander, who giggled like a girl and shouted out stupid jokes when everyone got too somber.  This tall, broad man – she had never really realized how tall Xander was until now, when he sat hunched on the grown beside her.  

            "Strange isn't it?" He speaks up.  "All that time we spent trying to close it, all those people that died.  And in the end, the one to end it all was a vampire."

Anger courses through her, her teeth are clenched together so hard they could break.

            "Ever wonder who chooses who lives and who dies, Buf?  You've got the inside scoop, having been in heaven and all that.  So tell me.  Who decided that Andrew lives–" he gestures towards where Andrew sits quietly, lost in his thoughts.  "And Anya dies."

            "And who decides that Spike dies, and you live?"

Xander of the old would have squawked indignantly, stupid things that no one meant about how people were always better than vampires.  The current Xander just blinked at her.

            "You tell me.  Seemed like you were all with the answers when Dawn asked you what you would do, and now you're just sitting.  Don't look to be going anywhere."

            "You heard what Willow said," she replies.  "I'm not the slayer anymore.  I don't need to go anywhere."

            "But where do you wanna go?"

            "As far away from here as possible.  And you?"

He grins wryly at her, stretching out his large form.

            "As far away from here as possible."

She considers – unlike the chattering crowd, Xander lost someone.  Xander has shadows under his eyes, tears right under the surface.  Xander would be too caught up in his own problems to try to help with hers.

            "Wanna come with?"

            "Sure.  Why not."


	2. Going Home

They leave the next morning.  Before the sun is fully up, they're gone, leaving behind only a short note, telling everyone not to worry.  While Xander packs their few belongings, Buffy walks home.

Except it really isn't home now.  Her mother's house, that she cherished all her life, her childhood memories, Mr. Gordo – all sucked into the big dark whole at her feet.  

The hellmouth is like a living thing to her, a pulsing parasite that takes everything she has.  Every good hope and dream, every chance at love and happiness, sucked right in.  And now it has Spike too.

A stubborn dandelion grows near her, the stem straining towards what little sun there is.  Not much fight left in it, and when Buffy pulls, it leaves the dirt easily.  Poor little thing, trying so hard to live so near to death itself.  

Spike used to love dandelions, said they reminded him of the sun.

For a moment, she wonders if she should throw the dandelion in, hope against hope it would land on where he last stood.  She can't burry him – can't burry what's hundreds of miles below her, mixed in with the dust of the old school.

Buffy envies Xander for this.  Anya is dead, yes.  But there are belongings in his little satchel that belonged to her.  Fond memories of her are shared by the group that didn't begrudge her presence.  On a chain around his neck, he carries her ring.

All that's left of Spike is somewhere in the black hole.  And his memory is in her heart.    

The petals of the flower feel soft as she brushes them again her lips, her cheek, before slipping it into her shirt pocket, right above her heart.  Where Spike will remain now, forever.  Where he belongs.  She won't throw the dandelion down, won't give the hell-mouth anything else.

Spike died so she could live in a world with dandelions.  She won't waste a single one.

With one last look at where home used to be – Buffy heads back to Xander.


	3. Memory

They don't talk as they drive.  The rackety old ford that they had traded for Xander's good watch makes too much noise.  Buffy prefers it this way, likes not having to search her mind for anything to say.  

The bumping and shaking lulls her into sleep and she closes her eyes.  

…and instantly sees his face, his beautiful face as he told her to go, the resolution, the finality…  

Buffy opens her eyes.  The hand that last held his burns.

            "Where to, Buff?"

Spike used to talk to her when he thought he was asleep.  Would slide down he body until his face was nestled in her stomach, and whisper to her.  All the things he dared not say when she was awake.

'pet, buffy, love, sweetheart, love you, love you so much.  My sweet golden girl, my beauty, pretty little slayer.  's all gonna work out, you'll see.  Gonna take you away someday, far far away, take you to Russia, to London, gonna see you smile.  Pretty buffy, my lovely girl, love you'

And she'd lie there, would pretend to be asleep just to hear the words.  To dream that maybe this morning, she'd stay with him, just spend all day together.  

And then the sun would come up, rising over her personal hell-mouth, and chase her dreams away.

            "Can we go to London?"

He isn't even surprised.  Xander merely accepts it with the air he's been accepting everything with lately.  

            "London's cloudy this time of year, you know."

As if he cares about the weather, as if they'll spend the day like tourists looking at the old buildings and wishing for the sun to shine so everything would be lighter.  Buffy knows as well as he does, that Xander will just have a different wall to stare at all day.  

            "You plan on going sunbathing?"  
  
His grin looks forced.

            "I could.  Could put on a bikini, go outside, have those London chicks look at my shapely body.  It'd be fun, and I could –"

Then he pauses, and he knows he's thinking of Anya.  So she sits quiet, and lets him think.

            "You're right," he says a few minutes later.  "Who needs the sun."

The dandelion in her pocket does, could use some water too probably.  Buffy wishes she had taken it with her in a pot, planted it and watched it grow.  But it's withering now, the hundreds of tiny petals curling up slightly, becoming crinkly.  

She takes her half empty water bottle, and places the flower inside.  

            "Gonna plant a garden?" Xander asks, and he's looking at her strangely.

She doesn't take her eyes off the dandelion.

            "No.  Planting a memory."


	4. Dream

Authors note: Thanks everyone for your wonderful support!!  I could make the chapters longer…or rather, I could post more chapters in one sitting, because I kind of like the length they're at now, and don't feel it would be right to change.  But then there would be fewer updates.  If you could let me know in your reviews what you'd like, shorter, more frequent updates, or longer, less frequent updates, I'll try to do that.  Please keep reading and reviewing, you make my day!! 

And now I'll let you read the chapter…

                                    ____________________

When they arrive in London, a week and three cars later, it's raining.  Buffy leads the way to a seedy hotel that looks like a hard gust of wind could bring it down.  No point in spending precious money on something neither would enjoy.

The woman at the counter smiles lewdly through her crooked teeth.

            "Just married, eh?  Gosh darn, them young folds do get 'round."  She pauses, waiting for comment.  

There is none.

Xander digs his hands further into his pockets, and Buffy continues to stare into space.  A few people turn to stare, then turn away.  Buffy supposes she can't be a pretty sight, still cut up in and full of bruises, in bloody jeans.  Oh well.

            "A-arighty, then."  The woman's energetic voice falters.  "Room's right down the hall, first door to you left."

No beds, just a little bunk in the middle.  Xander throws himself on the bottom, folds his hands over his stomach, and closes his eyes.  

The dandelion is slightly browner than it was earlier when she takes it out of the bottle.  There's a glass of water on the chair by the window, and she places it in there.  Buffy wishes there was more sun, so it could live.  

She took it out of the hellmouth where it was sure to perish, and took it into her new life.  It's still dying.

Xander murmurs Anya's name in his sleep and she freezes.  She wonders what she says in her sleep, doesn't even want to know.  If it's anything like what she dreams…no wonder Xander doesn't talk to her.  

Come to think of it, Buffy doesn't even know if she dreams.  The visions plague her day and night, are behind her eyelids even when she's focusing on something else.  

..the potentials screaming, crying, they're being split open, heads torn from their bodies, of course they're crying.  Dawn's bleeding on the floor and she couldn't save her, couldn't save anybody, and Giles' glasses lie at her feet and she steps on them, and he screams, and he's gone, and it's all because of her, and she's destroyed everything, and – 

She wakes up.

And faces the horror that her dreams are reality.

Maybe not that day…maybe not for years.  But sooner or later, her friends will die.  And it'll be all her fault.

The hand that touched the flower burns.


	5. Searching

Authors note:  Thanks again for the reviews!  Although I didn't get any for last chapter :::pouts:::.  Anyway, this one is a little longer.  Also, we're finally getting into it.  For those of you waiting on the Spuffy…don't worry.  It's coming.  And a big thanks to Nikita for helping me out with the names in this chapter!!

                                                                        ________________________________

There are cracks in the walls.  Little cracks, barely noticeable in the smooth plaster overhead.  But she can see them.  Maybe there's something wrong with her, that she sees these cracks that nobody else can.  

Or maybe when you stare at one place for two hours, you notice everything.  

Were there cracks in the walls at home?  In her girly room, in Dawn's, above her mother's bed?  She can't remember.

Lying idly on her bunk, Buffy wonders where Spike had grown up.  He had mentioned it once, she was sure.  Had mentioned a party, talked about some woman, told her his history.  She wishes she hadn't merely let his words drift over her.  She wishes she had listened, and heard.  If she had, maybe she'd know what to do now.  

Maybe if she can put him together – built him a monument in her heart – she'll be whole too.  

It's worth a shot.  

While Xander sleeps, or pretends to sleep, she sets out.  Walks along the narrow, dripping streets.  Wonders if any part of his history even exists today.  Sometimes it's hard to remember he lived over a hundred years ago.  

So hard to think of Spike as dead, even now, when he really is.  Dead to the last degree.  Ash.  Can't get much deader than that.

But when he was with her, he felt so alive.  When he took a hell god's torture for hours to save her non-existent little sister.  When he had taken the abuse she had put out on him, taken it merely because he loved her.  

Spike couldn't be dead.  But he was.  And she doesn't even know his last name.  

She asks directions from a random person on the street as though she was a tourist.  Finds out the way to the nearest library.  Is momentarily shocked as the smell of books reminds her of Giles.  

            "Can I help you?"  A plump, middle ages woman peers at her curiously through her glasses.  

Can she?  Buffy doesn't know.  She hopes so.  Hopes the nice lady can help put her back together again.

            "I need to know about William," she blurts out.  

            "Lots of Williams around here, dearie." The lady laughs.  

Yes, there are.  William the Conqueror, William the Magnificent, William Shakespeare.... Hundreds of Williams that did hundreds of important things.  But she only cares about one.

            "William…he said – I mean, I know that he lived in London.  About a hundred years ago."

            "This could take awhile," the nice lady warns.  "Sure you got time to look for this guy?"

Buffy gives her a wry smile.

            "All the time in the world."

She sits on one of the uncomfortable purple chairs and waits.  The library is sunnier than her small hotel room, and the sun shines freely out of the big window.  On a whim, she approaches it.  The sun burns, makes her eyes tear up, but she doesn't shield them.  She needs to look at the world.  

 …or the small part of the world that the dry grass in front of her represents.  This is what Spike died to save.  These few little dry plants that pale in comparison to his beauty.  The world is so very plain when compared to him.

            "Think I've found your boy," comes the lady's voice.  Buffy jumps away from the window as though burned.  "Now, there are two Williams.  One William Ainsworth.  And one William Barclay.  Now let me see…"  The lady rubs her glasses on her wool skirt before replacing them on her eyes.  "This Ainsworth fellow, daft, heavy drinker, very commonly seen in bars, bad reputation, erm…died when he was in his twenty's."

So much like the image Spike showed.  But she had a feeling it wasn't him.

            "No, that's not him.  Please tell about the other one."

            "Alright.  Barclay…now this fellow was a bit of a laugh up.  Wrote poetry."  She chuckled over the rim of her glasses.  "Bloody awful poetry, they called it.  Had a sister, she died when she was forty, father died before boy was born, and his mother died just a few days after him, he died under…mysterious circumstances."  She shrugged.  "No idea what that means, dearie."

            "T-that's him.   The one I'm looking for."

Her hands were shaking, and she had to dig her nails in her palms to stop from crying.  

            "Thank you.  Where can I find more about him?"


	6. Diary

The nice lady walked her to the house.  Listed off the facts about the stone used for building, the fancy beams, the gnarled trees in the front garden.  Talked about it in a normal voice, just as if she was describing some random house.

Buffy fought the urge to run away, felt almost as though she was trespassing.  Wondered what Spike would think if he knew she was standing in front of his old home, nervously shifting from foot to foot, and writing her hands.

A small smile curled her lips.  No need to wonder when it was so painfully obvious.  He'd tell her to get her ass up and go inside.  So for once in her life, she's listen to him.

The house had been turned into a sort of museum, the nice lady told her.  Nobody had lived in it since the original occupants had died.  After the son and mother had died so suddenly, and within such a short time of each other, the house had been regarded as haunted.  

She walked up the stairs, starting when the top one creaked.  Swept her hand along the banister, shiny under all the dust.  Twisted a door-knob and watched as the door fell open.

It was just as he had left it.  The nice lady had explained that after her darling brother's death, Clarise hadn't touched anything, just let it sit the way it was.  That book balanced precariously on the small table – he had put it there, and there it had sat, untouched for a hundred years.  

Buffy carefully shoved aside the red wire put up to prevent entry, and moved further into William's room.  His bed was made perfectly, and as she lifted the sheets to her nose, she could almost sense that wiff of distinctly Spike aroma.  

There was a desk with an open letter next to an open bottle of ink – all dried up.  She glanced at the letter – he had left off at the 'dear'.  

There were books…books everywhere.  Books stacked up on the desk, books neatly sitting in shelves.  On a whim, she opened one.  

            There have been times I cannot hide  
There have been times when this was drear  
When my sad soul forgot its pride  
And longed for one to love me here

Poetry?  Spike had poetry books, Bronte, judging from the cover.  Poems about love, about souls.  Poems that described so beautifully what he would become.  

            "I'm sorry," Buffy whispered.  "I'm sorry I couldn't love you while you were with me."

And then she was crying, and the little Emily Bronte book was getting soaked, and it wasn't right to ruin things this old.  Sniffling, she put it back on it's shelf.  

This was Spike.  This was the William he tried so hard to hide, but that made up so much of who he was.  The desperate, lovesick poet who wanted to be loved.  

Her feet carried her over to the bed, and she curled herself on it, burying her nose in the pillows, trying hard to sniff out his scent.  But it was gone.  A hundred years plus, and the bedsheets smelled of London smog and cobwebs.  

Awkwardly, she whipped at her face with the cover, drying her tears.  As she made to draw the covers back, something hard hit her hand.  She carefully took it out of the hiding spot under the covers.  And Buffy laughed.

So like Spike – he couldn't not leave anything, would want the world to remember that he had been there.  He hadn't left nothing.  He had left William's diary.


	7. Found

William wrote poetry.  Dozens of poems, hundreds of verses written out in his spidery handwriting.  She didn't know much about poetry, didn't need to, to see that these would be considered horrible.  There was no rhythm, and the words were too big.  

They were beautiful.

As though William had cut open his heart and poured himself onto the paper, revealing his very essence.  Revealing the core of Spike.  It was beautiful.

She flipped through the pages, stroking the tips of her fingers down the shapes of his letters, trying to burn them onto her skin, trying to soak William in.  She felt him spread through her entire being, and he was beautiful.  

Everything about what Spike became was beautiful.

His every flaw that had bothered her so much, had driven her to near insanity.  The way he had no tact whatsoever.  His demon.  His state of dead-ness.  All made up what was _Spike._  He wasn't perfect, not by a long shot.  But he was him.  The demon, William, the punk rocker who had smashed her sister's head against poles.  All stored away inside the surprisingly small body of Spike.  

She tucked the book into her bag and started downstairs.  The nice lady was standing by the empty fireplace, stroking a ginger colored cat.  

            "Did you find everything you needed, dear?"

She found out how to love.  It was enough.  Buffy nodded.

The nice lady seemed pleased, the corner of her mouth turning up in a gentle smile that seemed oh so familiar.  

            "I'm very happy for you.  Would you like to come back to the library with me for a chat?"

And Buffy did.  Wanted to walk along the drying grass of London, step through the fog and splash in the puddles of a world that was beautiful, in spite of it's imperfections.

            "That would be great."


	8. Back

Authors note: Sorry for the shortness of this chapter, I've got exams all over the place and wanted to get this out to you.  I'd also like to thank you all for taking time to review this – it means so much, you have no idea.  I know my writing is full of flaws, and I'm glad you are still able to enjoy it.  And tweedisgood, first off, don't call me honey.  Second, if you'd bothered to read further, you would have seen the clarification that Buffy always saw him as a "tower of strength" everlasting youth, blah blah blah, and now she finally sees that he's just as breakable as anyone.  That being said, if you don't like my stuff, no one is forcing you to read it.

_______________

There was nothing.  A rush of feeling, fire of his soul burning up inside of him, and he was glowing, and it was effulgent, and it was – gone.

And now he was here.

He didn't know who he was, didn't know where he came from.  He only knew that he was there.  And every muscle in his body ached.  

His lungs felt dry, like he hadn't used them in years.  A strange pounding in his chest seemed harsh and out of place, beating mercilessly upon his insides.  There was something there…something deep inside him, struggling to get out.  

But he felt empty.

The man carefully rose off his cramping knees, slowly straightened.  

Where was he?  It felt warm and comfortable and safe.  It was peaceful and beautiful, and he never wanted to leave.  But something was telling him to, was calling him, urging him to go through the last veil.  

Something – just out of reach.

He slowly walked forward, and he could swear there was something in the distance and it was glowing, just like him.  The figure was beckoning to him, and holding out its arms while the peace of his surroundings stayed him.

The man cautiously took another step, his hand reaching out – and he was back.

            "Buffy"


	9. Bright

_Authors note: Although FF.net ate up about 10 reviews,  I did get them through email.  So if you're isn't up there, I have read it, and thanks __J_

And here is where I lose all the fans of the story!  Jeez, I hope not.  This chapter is completely screwed up, but it's where I wanted the story to go.  Whether I got there or not, we shall see.  Please, please, please let me know what you think!  If you've never reviewed for me before, now would be the time to do it.  So for those of you who I haven't scared off, please go read.

                                    _________________

Everything looked new.  The flowers on the walk that she'd presumed were all dead were blinking bright color, the dried grass had spots of happy green.  Just from one little thing, just finding out who the man she loved really _was_, everything around her came alive.  There was just a tiny smidgen of doubt planted somewhere deep inside her, that something was missing.  But it was a very small smidgen.  The greater part of her felt like it was floating, swirling around in the clouds of heaven.

            'The glass is half **full**,' she chanted around in her mind.  Then glared at the fat squirrel on the tree, as if it was disagreeing with her.

Buffy was on a high.  Everything was beautiful, everything was gorgeous and alive, and how could she have ever wanted to leave this world?  There were imperfections, in the back of her mind she knew there had to be.  But who cared?

The nice lady was remarkably understanding, smiling along as Buffy rediscovered everything.  Shared her joy at seeing a purple butterfly spreading it's wings among the dead grass.  Laughed with her.  

            "What will you do now?" She asked. 

And Buffy just shook her head and smiled.  What wouldn't she do?  She had Spike in her heart.  She had the pieces of herself put together, one big lump of chocolaty cookie goodness.  She was perfectly happy.

            'Not perfectly happy,' her heart reminded her.  'If only –'

But Buffy firmly told her heart to be quiet.  Everything could not be had, every single thing she desired could not be hers.  This was enough.

            "But it's not, is it?"

            'Yes, it **is**' she returned.  Then realized it was not her who had thought the words.

The nice lady was smiling at her, and her eyes were soft and blue.

            "Is it?"

            "What are you talking about?"  Buffy knew her voice was shaking.  This world was perfect.  It was as good as she would ever get.

            "It'll never be enough, will it?  Not without him."

Buffy fell.  The clouds were gone, the angels around her vanished, and the splotches of brightness amid the death disappeared.  

            "Wha- what are you doing?"

            "Only helping you Buffy," the nice lady said, still smiling her soft smile.  "This world isn't perfect, don't fool yourself into thinking it is."

She was chocking on her own tears even as she wondered what was going on.

            "Go find him, Buffy.  Don't settle.  Get him, and be happy, because you deserve it."

It was all swirling inside her brain, smoky fog that she tried to make clear.

            "How do you know my name?"

The nice lady smiled.

            "How do you know mine?"

Buffy frowned.  She didn't know.  

            "Yes you do," the lady corrected gently.  She turned around, and was walking back towards the library, and where she walked, everything seemed just a little brighter.  

            "Tar-"

The nice lady was gone.  And Buffy had to find someone.


	10. Warm

_Authors note: Thanks so much for the feedback!!  Glad to know I haven't lost you.  Was it really Tara?  I don't know.  Was it?  And although this is almost over, the angst isn't.  The last chapter was kind of like a break of some sort.  This fic is nominated in the Spuffy Awards too, so if you like, go vote __J_

She knew she was running.  Felt it vaguely registering somewhere in her mind that she was working every muscle in her body.  Because Spike was here.  Because he was here and he was lonely and scared, and he needed her.  

This time, she would be there.

Would hold his hands like he had held hers, press them to her lips and soothe them with her smile.  Would make him happy, give him what he deserved.  She would, and it would be wonderful, and they'd be so, so happy.  If only she could find him.

If only that stupid vampire would just appear, he'd get all the baked-buffy-goods she had.  Every newly assembled piece of her to do with whatever he wanted.  

She knew she looked ridiculous and didn't care, spinning around in circles, looking this way and that.  Buffy would not move from this spot, because he was here, and she just had to look hard enough and she'd find him.  

            "Lady, you alri-"

She whirled around, and there was a growl at her throat.  The man gulped and hurriedly moved on.

            "Spike, where are you?"

It felt like rain was dropping down.  Someone was screaming.  Thick, heavy rain ran down her skin as she moved, and Buffy realized she was crying.  The screaming was coming from her own throat, which was quickly getting parched, but that didn't matter, because where _was_ he?

            "Why am I here?"

She turned and saw him.  Moved forward a step, hardly believing.  He moved back.

            "It was warm," he told her.  This new place wasn't warm.  His teeth started to chatter.

            "Spike, it's me."

This should mean something, he knew that.  It was her.  The girl, the other glowing one.  He had followed her into this land, and was taken from the warmth.

            "It's Buffy."  Her hand was gentle on his cheek, and he raised his own to touch hers. There were curious wet streaks, and he ran his finger down one.   

"Why wont you talk to me?  Spike, what's wrong?"

He was so cold.  Things here wanted to hurt him, make bad things happen.  The girl was making strange sounds in her throat, and her eyes were wide and wet and green.  Her lip was trembling.

            "Spike, I love you.  Love you William.  Won't you come back to me?"

She stepped closer and put her arms around him.  And he was warm. 


	11. Blank

She tried not to crowd him.  Did her best to stand back, give him space, but be there all the same.  Remembered how she felt when questions were fired and contact forced upon her in the early days of her return.  But it was hard.

He walked with her as she led him to her hotel room, didn't resist.  Just stared straight ahead and put one foot in front of the other.  Didn't say a word.  

            "We're here."  Tries to make her voice sound cheerful, but doesn't quite manage.  She had expected him to be…something.  Happy to see her, angry, upset, anything.  She hadn't expected this blank stare.  

The door wasn't locked and swung open easily when she pushed.  Xander was still lying on his bunk, but several bottles of some type of liquor littered the floor around him. She quickly crossed the room when he didn't move at her call, sighing in relief when his pulse beat heavily at her fingers.  Buffy left him to sleep.

She stretched Spike out on the small sofa and put a pillow under his head.  Covered him up in a ratty blanket and took of his boots, placing them off to the side.  On a whim, she took her shoes off too, put them next to his.  It looked right somehow.

            "Spike," she whispered, then checked his face for response.  Found none.  Stroked his soft hair and ran her fingers down his sharp cheekbone.  He felt like Spike, looked like Spike.  Had the distinctive smell of Spike.  But the core, his being, was missing.  She had to make it come back.

            "I do love you," she told him.  "After all the fighting, all the games, I finally figured out that I love you.  And you, you idiot, you didn't believe me!"

She could feel herself getting mad and stopped.  Decided to try a different track.

            "A few days after the battle, me and Xander left.  I just couldn't stay there, you know?  They were all so happy and cheerful, and I felt so apart, so we left.  It was supposed to be the beginning of a new life, no more slayer.  You probably would have hated that, always told me I couldn't escape what I was.  But I tried, and I tried to find myself."  She sniffed, and felt her eyes get wet.  "And I did.  You know what was silly?  I took this dandelion with me.  I dunno why, just figured that if I was going to have a life in the sun, m-maybe I could bring it along.  How pathetic, right?  Stupid flower's wilting."

And it was.  She stood and brought it over, held the cheap cup filled with dirty water.  Fingered the drying petals.

            "Why wont it stay alive?  Why wont you be alive?"  There was snot pouring out of her nose and she whipped at it impatiently.  "I mean, you're back.  I don't know why, or how, but you're back.  And I found you.  I went to your house, read your diary.  And Spike, it was like I understood everything, finally, what you'd been trying to tell me.  And I can be whole, a big cookie, I can, just wake up, please, please…"

She was soaking him with her own tears but didn't care, nothing mattered unless the stupid idiot of a vampire woke up and lived with her.  Which he didn't seem to want to do.

            "This was not the deal!" She screamed.  "You weren't supposed to bring him back half alive and miserable!  You selfish bastards up there, couldn't you just let us have this?  Is it so hard, just to let us be happy for once?  Everyone gets to be happy!  And you stupid, selfish, morons…" And then she couldn't talk anymore and buried her head in his chest, the hand with the dandelion going around him as she hugged him tight.  

            "Just come back, please Spike, just fight whatever's holding you back and be with me."


	12. Home

He was there…except that he wasn't.  Why not?  He could see his golden girl, his Buffy, and fuck, she was lying over his body and crying.  Buffy _never_ cried, least of all over him.  Something was wrong, and he was stuck with his body under her, and the rest of him in la la land.  

He tried to move, tried to join his body, but was held back.  

            "Bloody hell, let me out!" He roared.  

            '_Why?_'

He looked around for the person speaking, but found no one.  The voice sounded again, repeated it's question, and it sounded so familiar…

            _'Why do you want to go back, Spike?'_

He looked up, and there she was.  Standing, smiling serenely, looking for all the world exactly as she had looked the last he saw her.  He found to his astonishment that he wasn't surprised by her appearance, rather content, as though he had been waiting for her to arrive.

            "What's with the outfit?"

She laughed, a deep ringing sound within her chest, and placed her hands on her hips.

            _'What's wrong with it?'_

"Well, it's simple, pet.  You're a…what?  An angel?  Something like that?  So shouldn't you be all dressed in white, you know, beautiful dress, halo, all that?"

            _'Well, don't believe everything you read, William.  Jeans and a t-shirt can be very…heaven-ly.'_  

They shared a smile, and she plopped down next to him.

            "You gonna help me get home, pet?"

            '_Are you sure you want to leave?  This place has it's attractions._'

            "Well I 'm sure it does pet, but I got a slayer back there crying her bloody heart out over my body.  Can't get more attracting than that."

            '_It's not gonna be easy, you know.  Things will change if you go back._'

            "I don't care if the bloody grass turns pink, tell whoever regulates this to get off their bloody arse and let me go home!"

She smiled at him before standing and offering him a hand.  

            '_I was hoping you'd say that._'

            "Can't get up, ducks," he told her.  "There's something holdi –" She grasped his hand and pulled him up to stand beside her.  "Or that works."

            '_Bye, Spike._'  She hugged him, and he let his head rest on her shoulder while she ruffled his hair.  '_Take care of Willow for me._'

And with that, he was there, finally, totally home, with an armful of sobbing slayer locked to his chest.


	13. Together

Authors note: It's finally here!!  The moment you've been waiting for, if I've done my writing job properly.  Thanks again or the reviews, and please continue letting me know what you think.  There's probably one more chapter left, and an epilogue, which I'll try to get to you this week, because I'm leaving for 2 weeks on Sat.  Reviews really do inspire me to write…and I would never dream of bribing my wonderful readers with faster chapters if more send feedback.  Nope, never.  ;)  

                                    ______________________________

            "P-please, please, you stupid vampire, just p-please come b-back…"  She couldn't seem to stop her crying.  After all the trying to understand and wanting him back, he was here.  And he wasn't responding.  "You stupid, stupid, bleached, idiot, why can't you just do what I ask this once?"

            "Gotta ducks, insultin's not the best way to get what you want."

She screeched and hauled herself off his body, mouth gaping open, tears still streaking down her face.

            "Spike?"

He gave her a soft smile and gently fingered one of the wet strands around her face.

            "But just this once, I'll make an exception."

            "S-Spike?"

            "Present, luv."

She dumly nodded her head.  Hesitantly touched his hair and trailed a hand down to his sharp cheek.  Brushed a thumb against his soft lips.  Smiled through her tears.

            "What kept you?"'

            "Had a bit of a chat with an old friend."

            "Oh.  Spike?"

            "Yes pet?"

            "I'm glad you're back."

She was smiling at him, and her lip was trembling, and tears were pouring out of her eyes while she grinned.  She looked like some kind of demented hyena, and Spike decided she had never been more beautiful.

            "I'm glad I'm back too."  Curled his hands around her slim waist and hauled her back on top of his chest.

            "And Spike?"

            "What, Buffy?"  Buried his face in her neck and breathed in her scent.

            "I love you." 

She was staring at him, her little face scrunched up and determined.

            "That's good." Smiled at her, and now he was crying, because this was really happening, not a dream, not a fantasy, but real life in this world they had saved together.  And she loved him.

            "I do, I love you so much, and it's like I figured it out, and I'm a cookie, and it's real, and – what?"

            "I love you too."

And their tears mingled as they kissed.


	14. Roots

He's been listening to her talk for hours.  Every thought that crossed her wonderful mind is pouring out, in short, jerky sentences that would make no sense to anyone but the two of them.  And he listens, rubs her back, licks tears off her beautiful cheeks as she cries.  Whispers in her ear that it's going to be okay.  

And it will be.  The world is saved for the moment, no apocalypses are on the horizon.  Just a peaceful, well deserved rest.  A time just for them.

            "Spike?" 

He'll never grow tired of hearing her say his name.  All that feeling that she puts in one little word, and it's all directed at him.  

            "You know you're breathing, right?"

He frowns down at her.

            "Always breathe, pet, never got out of the habit."

Then she grins innocently.

            "And does your heart always beat too?"

            "Whaddya mean, does my heart alwa – oh.  Bloody hell!"

She continues watching him peacefully as he works his mouth.  Opens it.  Then closes.  Then rotates his jaw a bit.

            "It's what she meant," he tells her.  "The good witch in her jeans and t-shirt, told me things would be different, that I could stay where I was if I wanted."

            "You left heaven for me?"  She looks astonished, as though this is something new.  Like she doesn't know that no place without her could be heaven.  So he tells her.

            "You know what Spike?  You're truly an extraordinary man."

And he grins at her, and Buffy delights in his dimples.  

            "In the very real sense of the word, too.  You're truly an extraordinary woman too, my slayer.  Never been better."  Then he sniffs.  "What's Harris doin' here?"

She sighs and gets up, walks over to the sink with a cup clutched in her hand.  

            "Anya died too, when you did."  It's all she needs to say.

She pours out the dirty water in the cup holding the dandelion out, and makes her way out the door.  Spike follows.  Finds her bent on the side of the walkway, cute little rear waving around as she digs a hole and puts the flower in.

            "You think it might grow roots?"

He thinks it'd take a bloody miracle for a half dead, ripped flower to live again.  Then again, it's being planted by Buffy Summers.

            "Think there's a good chance of it, pet."


	15. Epilogue

Authors note: And so this is it.  Thank you all so much for the wonderful feedback I've gotten – please, please let me know what you think of the ending.  You hate it, you love it, want more, whatever.  Please, just let me know.  This is my first ever finished series, and I hope you all enjoyed it.  It's been a blast. 

                                    __________________________________

Epilogue 

            "So you're back."

Doesn't cringe at the one eyed glare.

            "Looks like I am."

It's truly amazing how people change.  No witty comeback, no scathing reply.

            "You're back and she's still dead.  You got a second chance."  For a moment, he pauses.  "Or third, whatever.  Make sure you use it."

            "I fully intend on doing so, mate."

Buffy came back in at that, apparently deciding that male bonding time was over.  

            "Xan –"

            "No.  It's okay," he interrupted.  "I was thinking.  Dreaming, or something.  And I saw her."  He chokes up, and there are tears in his eyes.  "She wouldn't want me moping like this.  She'd have wanted us all happy."

            "And having orgasms," Spikes pointed out.  

            "A-And having o-orgasms.  That was my girl.  I'm gonna make her proud."

            "It's what she would have wanted, Xan.  Wherever she is now, it's what she wants.  We'll take care of each other, all of us.  It'll be okay."

She hugs him, and he holds her tight.  

            "I'm gonna go call Will now.  Let her know that…that everything's okay."

He gives them a wry smile, and walks out the door, closing it behind him.  Buffy waves before stepping close.

            "So.  Newly human.  What do you wanna do now?"  Looks coyly at him through her lashes.

Spike laughs, and hugs her tight to him.  Growls lightly in her ear.  Molds his hands to her back as she kisses him deeply, tongues furiously battling.

            "Thing I want most…right now?" He asks through bated breath.  She nods, eyes glazing over.  "Chocolate cake comes to mind, pet."

Her eyes pop open at the unexpected answer and she looks stunned – then she laughs.  And laughs, and there are tears pouring out of her eyes as she giggles.

            "Oh god, Spike," she tells him when she's able to speak.  "Never stop surprising me.  Never stop loving me."

            "You got yourself a deal, pet.  S'long as you never stop loving me."

She smiles at him, and her eyes are big and caring.  Lifts up to whisper in his ear.

            "Think that's pretty much a guarantee."


	16. Authors Question

Hi everyone,

This isn't an update, because obviously the story is finished and there's nothing left to write.  Unless…I write a sequel.  Which I'm thinking of doing.  I'm almost done with 2 out of my 3 WIP's, Freezing Hot and Shrinks of the Caribbean Nightlife, and don't really feel like starting anything completely new yet.  So if you'd like a sequel, review, or send me an email, and if enough people seem interested, I'll start writing it when I'm done with the above WIP's.  

So just let me know!  And to all who reviewed for this story, thank you so much for your support, and for your feedback :)


End file.
